Holy Wars
by storybookknight
Summary: Ten years after the Fifth Holy Grail War, the Great Grail beneath Fuyuki has been disassembled and the ritual stopped for good... or so Rin, Saber, and Shirou think. When the grim cycle mysteriously begins again, this time centered around Chicago, it will be up to Harry Dresden to uncover the truth. Future AU from UBW, with a Nasuverse interpretation of Dresden Files.
1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note: This story is based on the UBW ending of Fate/Stay Night. It is also based on the Dresden Files. It is slightly AU from the first, and Very AU from the second. I have only a secondhand familiarity with F/SN, so there may be some discrepancies as to official Nasuverse canon. All reviews are welcome.**

**Disclaimer: I don't own Fate/Stay Night or the Dresden Files. Rated M for violence, salty language, and sexual situations. **

Prologue – Nov. 29, 20XX – LONDON

In the small kitchen of Rin Tohsaka's London townhouse, Shirou Emiya cooked happily. Delicious-smelling steam rose from a large stainless-steel pot on the stove, mixing with the aroma of freshly baked bread to create an atmosphere redolent with the scent of domestic bliss. Scarred hands and the blade-handling skills of two lifetimes combined to cleave the flesh of a yellow onion with consummate precision, carving thin ribbons to be mixed into a western-style salad in time to the quiet tune he hummed. Outside the window, a cold autumn rain blatted against the glass, while behind him at the dinner table, the Heroic Spirit Saber (also known as as Arturia Pendragon, rightful King of Britain) placed three china plates on a table already decorated with a white linen tablecloth, several picture frames, and a beautiful arrangement of flowers.

"Shirou! What should I use for glasses?" she asked, already en route to the proper cabinet.

"The nice tumblers, the red wine stems, and the champagne flutes." He chuckled, seeing Saber's arched eyebrow. "Rin went a little overboard with the anniversary plans," he elaborated, and received a fond sigh in response. "She said she'd be finished with her experiments at six, right?" he asked, glancing at the clock above the mantel.

"She should be down any minute." Saber affirmed.

Shirou nodded, swept the onions off the wooden chopping board with the flat of his knife, and moved on to an already-peeled carrot. It was true that in the past Rin had skipped meals without advance warning when she got involved in whatever ridiculous project Zeltrech had assigned to her most recently, but she had been planning this 'Tenth Anniversary Dinner" ever since she and Waver, Lord El-Melloi II, had returned from Fuyuki, the Great Grail safely disassembled.

Thinking about it, Shirou smiled. For years, the thought of the Heaven's Feel ritual had plagued the trio – knowing that the darkness of Angra Mainyu had tainted the Great Grail, Tohsaka had spent a great deal of time and energy attempting to convince the Association to discontinue the ritual and destroy all research pertaining to it. The proposal met with heavy criticism, as the Third Magic was no prize to be casually disregarded and the Einzbern family had a heavy personal stake in the War. With the assistance of Waver Velvet, Lord El-Melloi II; a man who was the only survivor of the fourth Heaven's Feel and a politically very influential person in the Clock Tower; the White Council (the Clock Tower's ruling body) had narrowly voted to destroy the grail. Rin returned to Fuyuki to supervise the destruction personally (leaving Shirou and Arturia behind to keep association experts on Noble Phantasms and Heroic Spirits from getting too close a look at them), returned home full of elation and nostalgia, and had immediately started planning a 'combination grail destruction and ten year relationship celebration'. The notoriously cheap jewelcrafter had even gone so far as to purchase high-class wine and champagne.

For his own part, Shirou had busted out his best recipes, including the most successful of his more recent experiments in baked bread (a new skillset for him, as he had grown up in an Eastern kitchen.) Rin had originally planned for a night at a fancy restaurant, but Shirou vetoed that notion with the assertion that a celebration where he didn't get to cook was hardly a celebration.

Saber, though her particular brand of skills was… not exceptionally domestic, had nonetheless exercised her meager artistic abilities to their fullest and decorated the cake with caricatures of the various Servants of the Fifth War. Saber decreed that she had first claim in being able to bite off the head of Gilgamesh, King of Kings, and if that particular piece also happened to be a little bit larger than the others, Shirou and Rin knew better than to say anything about it.

She had also filled the dining area with pictures of the three of them, the earliest dating back a full ten years, taken by an eager Taiga. In truth, little about them had changed. Saber herself not at all, of course – even had she not been renowned in life as a perpetually young king, as a Heroic Spirit her body was a magical construct and in no way subject to aging. Shirou had grown slightly taller and fuller in the shoulder; however as the container for the Noble Phantasm Avalon he was as immune to age as the king who, in life, had made it legend. In another future his imperfect ability to use the scabbard might have allowed his hair to grey and his skin to darken (and indeed Shirou had spent the occasional fretful night in the mirror after particularly difficult missions examining his hairline for signs that he might be becoming Archer) but Arturia's constant presence improved its function, leaving him with the red hair of his youth. Of the three, it was truly only Rin who had aged – once a beautiful girl, she was now a beautiful woman, poised and elegant, her pigtails exchanged for an even fall of brown hair to the middle of her back.

Turning his gaze away from the pictures on the table, Shirou added the carrots to the salad bowl and began to toss it with wooden tongs. Above his head, he heard the distinct sound of feet stamping across the workshop floor, and smirked. On the other hand, he thought to himself fondly, in some ways she hasn't really grown up at all. He exchanged a knowing glance with Arturia.

"Oh dear. Another failed experiment?" she said, placing the good silverware on the table carefully. As the angry-sounding footsteps came down the stairs two at a time, Saber stepped away from the table slightly and took a half-step forwards, balancing lightly on the balls of her feet. "… Is Tohsaka running away from the workshop? If she summoned another alternate-reality monster after I just finished decorating for this party, I'll have to punish her."

Shirou half unconsciously reinforced his hearing even as he placed the knife on the cutting board, preparing his empty hands to trace Kanshou and Byakuya, then stopped. "She's not being followed, but she's swearing in German… and she's stopped on the second floor to get changed. I guess we'll find out in a minute."

A few minutes later, a smiling Rin came down the stairs in a rather more sedate fashion, wearing a flowing black dress with a red sweater. An outside observer might have noticed nothing wrong, but Shirou and Arturia immediately noticed the tension at the corners of her eyes, her rigid posture, and the clenched fist half-hidden in the long sleeves of her sweater. She took a long deep breath through her nose and smiled, going up to hug Shirou from behind.

"Hmm, it seems I was right in allowing you to cook after all. I'll have to reward you later." Though her face was hidden from him, being firmly nestled between his shoulder blades, and her tone of voice was cheerful, Shirou could feel the tension in her embrace through his ribs. Hearing her relentless cheerfulness while he could clearly feel something wrong with her did little to decrease his concern.

Knowing that Rin only ever acted like that when something was truly wrong, Shirou prepared a quick Structural Grasping on her body to make sure that she wasn't actually injured. Anything else, he thought, and he would wait for her to tell him. "Trace… on." He muttered, pushing the tiniest bit of prana through his system.

Then he inhaled sharply through his nose, whirling to face Rin even as she stepped back, her eyes suddenly filling with tears. "Please, don't." she said, shaking her head and placing her palm on his chest. "Forget it. Just for tonight? Ne? We deserve a night, don't we?"

As Saber looked from Shirou to Rin, utterly confused, Shirou reached up and gently tugged at Rin's sleeve… revealing a trio of command seals.

In a quiet kitchen surrounded by cruel rain, in the ashes of peace and contentment, despite the efforts of all who wished to forestall it… the Sixth War for the Holy Grail had begun.


	2. Chapter 2

**Author's Note: In answer to some questions asked via PM, the character of Harry Dresden is in this story rebuilt to Nasuverse specifications. In particular, this means that certain setting elements of the Dresden Files (such as the Seven Laws of Magic) have been ignored, and others (the Courts, the Knights, the Nevernever) will be highly skewed, if they appear at all.  
**

**I don't own the Dresden Files or Fate/Stay Night.**

CHAPTER 1 – DEC 1, 20XX – CHICAGO

The main disadvantage of renting an office is that occasionally you have to sit in it. It wasn't the décor I hated, exactly; after so many years the place was almost homey. The furniture was all second-hand, but if it was a little battered and scarred in places, well, so was I. It wasn't that the place was disorganized – at least not more so than it had been in times previous. Even though I'd gotten out of the habit of cleaning regularly thanks to a grateful Nature Spirit that had taken up living in my home, I'd spent enough time here lately that the piles of papers were relatively neat and the empty coffee cups were safely ensconced in the garbage pail. That was, in a nutshell, the problem. My last case wrapped itself up neatly a few days after Halloween. After over three weeks without work, two weeks of spending all day in the office, and a week of living off of deli meat and cup ramen, even the block letters on my door reading HARRY DRESDEN – WIZARD were beginning to lose their appeal.

Of course, by the standards of the Magus Association, I wasn't a wizard at all – not having mastered any of the True Magics, I was only technically a magus. Given that I was hardly on the best of terms with the Clock Tower to begin with, and that my average customer was hardly likely to know the difference, the sign on the door stayed. Ironically, as far as the Clock Tower was concerned, using 'Wizard' instead of something like 'Paranormal Investigator' was much better at fitting within the mandate that 'The World At Large Shall Not Know". A 'paranormal investigator' would probably be taken way more seriously than I usually was. On the other hand, a 'paranormal investigator' would probably get more work, too.

Just as I was beginning to seriously consider the merits of changing my sign (among the many cons: I would have to pay someone to do it) I felt the signature mental tug of someone crossing the Bounded Field set up around my office. Barely more than a series of invisible soap bubbles of prana – my training in bounded fields was based around the concept of a 'threshold', which this public building didn't have – it mostly served as an early warning system. In this case, the layers of the Field warned me that the person approaching was non-hostile, aware of the supernatural, a magus, and most importantly a client.

They didn't warn me that she was beautiful. She walked in wearing a long purple dress with the additions of a black shawl and white gloves to ward against the Chicago wind. It was in striking contrast to her hair, which was a pale lavender color found neither in nature nor, I suspected, in a bottle. She was apparently unarmed, though she had an expensive-looking briefcase in her left hand. She barely came up to my breastbone when I stood to shake her hand, but had a quiet sense of poise and confidence that belied her size. Her eyes, almond shaped and a deep violet flecked with red met mine for only a split second when she introduced herself, in a faint Japanese accent, as "Sakura Matou."

"Dresden. Harry Dresden." I extended my hand to her, carefully making sure I didn't crush hers when I took it. "What can I do for you, Miss Matou?" She pulled out a chair and sat carefully, her spine straight, hands folded in her lap.

"Mr. Dresden… are you familiar with the Heaven's Feel ritual?" she asked. Her tone was serious, straight to business, and it seemed that she was doing her best to keep looking at me without meeting my eyes directly – which meant that she had done her homework on me. It also meant that she might have a reason to hide from my Mystic Eyes of the Soul Gaze, and I belatedly told myself that just because she was beautiful, it didn't mean that I could trust her.

I'd learned that lesson the hard way. "As you probably know, despite being the Second Owner here in Chicago, I'm fairly cut off from the Magus Association as a whole," I replied with a chilly edge creeping into my voice. Due to the fact that Justin DuMorne, the man who taught me magecraft, had been posthumously declared a Sealing Designate, the majority of the Clock Tower and the Enforcers had blacklisted me. I had no access to their resources, financial support, or anything similar. Even my position of 'Second Owner' of Chicago had been a way to keep me under surveillance. My work as a private investigator handily fulfilled my duties of suppressing knowledge of the Supernatural and kept my bills paid; but it didn't mean that I didn't resent the way the Association treated me.

Sakura nodded, confirming that she had researched me before coming. "To be honest, I am not here on behalf of the Association, but rather on behalf of the Matou family." She took a deep breath. "The Heaven's Feel is an alchemical ritual that was originally designed to create a wish-granting device that could force the materialization of the Third Magic." I blinked in surprise, but before I could interrupt she continued. "It requires seven magi as participants, can only be performed at an intersection of ley-lines, and has been conducted five times in the past, every time unsuccessfully. Unfortunately, due to these failures, the ritual itself became corrupted, and is now a sort of monkey's paw that can only grant wishes based on destruction. As such the ritual was completely disassembled earlier this year."

She finally paused for breath, and I leaned back a bit in my chair, taking it all in. "So where do I fit in to all of this?" I asked. "I'm sure you didn't go to the trouble of tracking me down just to explain a defunct ritual to me."

She shook her head with a sad smile. I was struck by the melancholy look on her face. "No, Mr. Dresden. Unfortunately, an unauthorized person or persons have apparently stolen the secrets of the ritual, and have replicated the results. Here. In Chicago."

To be honest, by the time she had said 'intersection of ley-lines' I had the creeping suspicion that she was going to say something like that, but it still hit me like a bucket of cold water down the back. "So what's the bad news?" I asked, giving her a wry grin.

"The ritual is titled the Holy Grail War, as it involves a duel to the death between magi and the Servants they summon. Its previous location, Fuyuki City, has historically suffered tens of thousands of deaths as a result." She looked apologetic. I pinched the bridge of my nose and tried not to swear.

"Why the hell haven't those idiots at the Clock Tower told me about this yet?" I half-shouted, glaring at the phone in my office as if it were personally responsible. "You're telling me that there's potentially going to be half-a-dozen morons tossing fireballs around downtown Chicago?"

She nodded, looking unhappy, and opened the silver clasps on the black leather case by her feet, then pulled it to her lap in order to remove a manila file. In it were Polaroid photos of four people, one of which was a mage that I vaguely recognized. "Lord El-Melloi, right?" I looked through the documents, looking for names. Rin Tohsaka. Shirou Emiya. Arturia Pendragon? What the hell? "Hey, what-"

As I looked up, Sakura nodded, a trace of amusement creeping into her otherwise grim expression. "Besides myself, these are the only living Grail War survivors. Lord El-Melloi was a participant in the Fourth; Shirou, Rin and I participated in the Fifth." The lurking amusement showed itself just a little bit more. "And Arturia Pendragon, King of the Britons, was summoned as the Heroic Spirit Saber in the Fifth." I'm not sure exactly what I looked like when she said that, but I felt flabbergasted, and her expression was now definitely mischevious. "Along with Hercules, Medusa, Gilgamesh, Cu Chulainn, Medea, and Hassan il-Sabbah."

For a second I just sat there, stunned, and only snapped out of it when Sakura raised her hand to her mouth and giggled. Despite my wariness, and how thoroughly overwhelmed I felt, I couldn't quite help but give her a small grin in return. "So. Not only mages doing battle, but Heroic Spirits? And you're saying the reason I haven't been told yet is… because of these people?" I raised one eyebrow as I picked up the manila folder.

At that, Sakura frowned, and the mood once again turned solemn. "I don't want to believe it… I once knew Shirou and Rin quite well." An involuntary spasm of some emotion flitted over her face, too quick for me to decipher. "Nonetheless, during the Fifth War they went to extraordinary lengths to win, and they left Fuyuki to join the Mage's Association ten years ago. Besides the fact that they're hiding the fact the ritual is taking place as best as possible, there are three other reasons that I can't help but suspect them. First, Rin was the person in charge of dismantling the Heaven's Feel ritual. She's a phenomenally talented mage – she's an Average One, for one thing," I whistled involuntarily at that, "and I find it difficult to believe that she would have failed to destroy the Grail permanently if that had truly been her intent."

I tilted my head quizzically. "Could the ritual have been re-created?"

"Possibly, but without extensive access to either the Grail itself or the personal family notes of myself, Tohsaka, and Jubstacheit von Einzbern, it would have been immensely difficult." She replied, and I nodded to show that I understood. "Secondly, it's been ten years, and Saber is still alive." She frowned again, this time with distaste. "It's possible that it's because of nothing more than sentiment, but they should have access to the same notes that I do, which show that the survival of Gilgamesh from the Fourth war was one of the main factors in causing the Fifth to occur fifty years ahead of schedule. And Tohsaka has never been a particularly sentimental person," she concluded bitterly. I made a mental note of that – clearly, there was some bad blood there between the two.

"What's the third reason?" I asked, steepling my fingers in front of me as I tried to process the information.

She met my eyes in a reflex, but quickly slid them aside. "… I've received information that suggests Shirou Emiya is conducting forbidden research into Reality Marbles."

My blood ran cold. One of the few truly forbidden subjects of research at the Clock Tower, Reality Marbles were a particular fascination of my erstwhile mentor, Justin DuMorne. His experiments had led him into both necromancy and demonology, and had left a very permanent mark on me. My hands formed into involuntary fists, and I looked back down at the cheerful orange-haired man in the photograph with a newfound distrust. "And why haven't you brought this information to the Clock Tower?" I asked.

"It's… inconclusive," she admitted, "and Tohsaka has some very powerful patrons. Beyond that, she's the Second Owner of Fuyuki. It would be easy for her to claim that my accusations were politically motivated. And she could destroy my family."

I stared at the open folder on the desk. "So why are you telling all of this to me?" I asked. "Somehow I don't think it's just an altruistic warning."

She took another folder out of the briefcase, laid it on the desk, and lifted up a false bottom to reveal several significant stacks of cash. "Correct, Mr. Dresden. I would like to hire you to become a master in the Sixth Holy Grail War." She motioned to the second folder with a nod of her head. "Should you accept, I will give you all the information you require to conduct the ritual of Summoning Servant. Though it will greatly increase your risk of injury or death, I believe that becoming a Master will give you the strength required to keep the people of this city safe." She squared her shoulders resolutely. "And… I am uncertain in my ability to face them alone."

I looked from her to the briefcase, and to the twin folders on my desk. "I can't give you an answer immediately, you understand." I said, and she nodded, collecting the briefcase and the second folder.

"I do." She stood up and bowed from the waist, smoothing her dress with a practiced motion. "My contact information is written on the inside of the folder I have provided. Please…" she asked, sincere eyes flitting to mine before once more being wrenched away, "don't take too long to decide."

With that, she left, leaving me to stare once again at the folder full of pictures. Something told me that things in Chicago were about to get a lot more interesting… in the proverbial Chinese sense of the word.


	3. Chapter 3

**Author's Note: For now I anticipate that the story's perspective will alternate between Shirou and Harry. Besides the fact that it lets me set up a conflict between them (having them team up would be waaaay too easy) it's great for setting up cliffhangers! This is my first fic, so I'm still trying to iron out all of the kinks in my narrative style, particularly getting down character voices. Let me know what you think.**

**I don't own the Dresden Files or Fate/Stay Night.**

DEC 1, 20XX - LONDON

Waver Velvet's quarters in the Clock Tower were lavish, as befit the heir to the El-Melloi family and member of the White Council. Though his true work and magical secrets were confined to an equally lavish Workshop (seen only rarely by others, and even then only briefly) Waver was the type of person to collect arcane knickknacks and curiosities, and to put them on display. Paintings of the various El-Melloi holdings hung on the wall next to levitating quartz prisms, an oak coffee table had been modified to ensconce a scrying bowl, an ivory statuette sat next to a butterfly collection mounted on circuit board, and the leather-bound books on the wall alternated indiscriminately between the mundane and the mystic.

When students at Waver's popular lectures stopped by to visit during 'office hours' (and to examine that rarest of curiosities, a noble lord still willing to teach mere mortals) their attention was often diverted by the sheer variety of decoration. Tonight, Lord El-Melloi's guests had more pressing concerns than lectures or grades, and were not distracted in the slightest. Shirou, Rin, and Saber were ready to go to war. All three, plus Waver, sat at a sturdy-looking table in the dining room that was fashioned from a cross-sectional disk of an enormous redwood, its growth rings forming an ever-increasing series of concentric circles. Practically a work of art, it was polished to a dull sheen, with a series of scenes from the Iliad carved around its edge and into its legs. The laptop and computer printouts resting on its surface looked in comparison completely anachronistic.

"Spit it out, Waver!" shouted Rin Tohsaka, flipping through a series of pages without really looking at any of them. "How the hell did this happen?"

Shirou jabbed her in the side with his elbow. "Lord El-Melloi!" he hissed to Rin under his breath. "Indeed, Lord El-Melloi," he continued in a more conversational (and much more frigid) tone, "I would like to know as well just how this happened. It was my understanding that you and Rin personally selected all the magi involved in dismantling the Great Grail in order to prevent just such an occurrence."

Waver lit a cigar with a snap of his thumb and sighed, bringing two fingers to pinch the bridge of his nose as if to ward off headache. "All reports indicate that the leak didn't come from the contractors. I have a copy here of the Enforcers' report investigating each mage before and after the project… in theory, they're all clean."

Saber sat patiently at the edge of her chair, pointedly ignoring the conversation to read through the profiles Waver had provided. Those she had already scanned were separated into discrete piles by threat level, though the majority of files were relegated to the 'minor nuisance' category.

"Then where was the leak?" Asked Rin, again scanning through the proffered Enforcers' report in a desultory fashion before she returned to staring directly at Waver as if she could somehow pry the secret out of his skull with a Mystic Gaze. "Waver, how did it happen?" Now, she sounded more plaintive, and though Shirou contemplated correcting her informality with his elbow again (given his official status as Rin's apprentice and his … unusual personal studies, interacting with the nobles of the Clock Tower put him on edge) he saw the tears hiding at the corners of Rin's eyes and decided to let the matter rest.

Waver leaned back in his chair and took a long puff of the cigar, then spoke. "Have either of you heard any rumors lately? This is not the first catastrophe to have struck the Clock Tower in recent years. The recent war with the family of Dead Apostles that call themselves the Red Court… and the recent surge in publicly supernatural events that require the intercession of the Enforcers. All of these things are symptoms."

Rin looked confused, but Shirou's eyes narrowed. "You're talking about the Black Council."

Waver sighed. "Hydragyrum? Could you get the good scotch, and some glasses and ice for our guests?" From behind him, a long bubble of mercury flowed against gravity out of an ornate jar. In a split few seconds, its shape resolved into that of a womanly figure.

Shirou blinked in astonishment. "Wow, that looks like –" He was cut off by Waver, whose eyes were wide in sudden panic and whose lips pursed in a silent shush, as well as by Rin's elbow in his side. Waver exaggeratedly mouthed the words 'Don't Say Robot'. The Maid Golem, Hydragyrum, tilted its head to the side in a quizzical motion, its blank eyes on Shirou. "- A very lovely woman, Waver. Very realistic." Shirou finished weakly.

Hydragyrum aped a curtsey, a mercury skirt flowing into existence for a few seconds. The golem returned to its original mannequin-like shape, then turned and exited to the kitchen. Waver breathed a sigh of relief. "I'm afraid I showed her a certain movie while I was crafting her. If certain topics," he paused to silently mouth the word 'robots', "are brought up around her, she can get a little bit… excitable."

Despite the seriousness of the situation, Shirou snorted. Rin looked down at the floor for a second, abashed. "Sorry, Waver-sensei. I should have warned Shirou and Saber before I brought them over." Then she shook her head and snapped her gaze back up to her former teacher. "But anyways! Who the hell are these Black Council people? And how the hell did they get hold of the notes on the Grail's construction?"

Waver sighed again, this time shorter and sharper, a breath of resolution rather than relaxation."The official line of the White Council is that no organized group of magi opposed to the existence of the Clock Tower exists. Those mages who reject the White Council's doctrine of noninterference with mortal society, avoiding harming mundanes, and avoiding research that would drive the mage insane are easily identifiable by the trail of chaos that they leave." As he spoke, his cigar, held in his left hand, traced shapes and patterns in the air that left behind billowing clouds of smoke. "The truth is that while the Clock Tower stands for knowledge and the search for the Akashic Record, there are many members which seek out magical accomplishments not because of a love of knowledge, but because there are resources and prestige attached to new discoveries. For magi such as this, the temptation to … evade the regulations is strong. Those who get caught cheating are hunted down and killed, but for those who don't… it's possible that they are being elevated to the highest levels simply because their unorthodox methods have achieved results. Similarly, it's quite possible that illegal research is concealed until its fruits can be passed down to a subsequent generation through a family Crest."

Rin scowled, harsh emotion marring her otherwise beautiful features. "So you're saying that the White Council can't identify these guys? Are you that incompetent?"

Waver met her stare evenly. "It's easier than you might think for someone already trusted by the Clock Tower to conduct forbidden research discreetly. Many sources of knowledge have multiple applications. For example, some of the books I've lent to you over the years for perfectly innocent reasons could also probably be used to help someone develop a Reality Marble."

Rin blanched. "Urk!" she uttered, acknowledging the hit. Beside her, Shirou put one hand behind his head and laughed awkardly.

Waver grinned. "Anyways, the conspiracy theories state that there's a hidden group inside the Clock Tower that has been suborning some people and sabotaging the work of others, possibly for generations, in pursuit of the goal of forming a new society of mages to rule over humans... or something like that. The White Council is currently denying their existence, but for now nobody knows if that's because the accusations are false or if the Council is worried about people joining them."

Shirou interjected. "It's not unreasonable. " All eyes – even Saber's – turned to him. "Over the past few years, the conflicts I've been to, the people I've tried to save, it seems like the likelihood of magus involvement in the cause of the events has increased dramatically. Many of the rogue mages seemed to have made recent breakthroughs, as if someone was helping them spur their research along. I had thought that the pattern was just a coincidence, but…" he trailed off.

As he said this, the Maid Golem returned to the room with a tray full of drinks, and conversation briefly stopped while the Scotch was served. Shirou and Saber made sounds of appreciation as they sipped it; Rin on the other hand took a sip and politely set the drink aside, her nose wrinkling with distaste. "Say that this Black Council is the cause." She said, leaning in with her elbows on the table. "And the White Council doesn't want to blame them, because they'd look weak or whatever. What does that mean for us? I mean, it sounds like the whole problem with these Black Council guys is that nobody knows who they are. We can't just track them down and beat wherever they hid their new Great Grail out of them so we can stop this whole mess."

Waver nodded. "You're right. I do have one potential lead, however." At that, everyone paid attention. "Saber, once you were re-summoned, you acquired the information that the Grail War would be held in Chicago, correct?"

Saber stilled. "Indeed. That is the location of the Grail." She shut the file she was looking at in order to take another file handed to her by Waver, this one marked with a single sticky note that said DRESDEN in big block letters.

Waver motioned at the file. "Meet Harry Dresden, Second Owner of Chicago. Origin: Knowledge. Element: Soul. He nearly received a sealing designation about ten years ago. Dresden was the apprentice of former Senior Enforcer Justin DuMorne; a nasty piece of work that liked to hunt down Sealing Designates just so that he could make copies of all of their research and try to replicate the 'best' bits." He put the cigar back to his lips and took a short draw, pensive. "Dresden was one of his more successful experiments… but when DuMorne's research threatened to go too far, Dresden killed him, and turned the materials over to the Clock Tower – or that's the official story, anyways."

Shirou's eyes narrowed. "You sound like you have doubts." He said, hands unconsciously tightening into fists. The thought of being able to find the culprit behind destroying a decade's peace and endangering the world once again to being exposed to Angra Mainyu was an attractive one.

Waver nodded. "It's nothing concrete, obviously; nevertheless there are a few things that just don't sit well with me. For one, he barely escaped a Sealing Designation himself. For another, the war with the Red Court that is currently sapping our reserves was sparked due to an incident that this man began."

Arturia looked through the materials with increasing disbelief. "Known associations: Ebenezar McCoy, aka The Blackstaff, a member of the White Council with access to forbidden magics. Mortal law enforcement. A pack of werewolves. Church Executors." She paused, and her eyes widened. "What?" she shouted, and her fist pounded on the heavy oak table hard enough to shake the floor, one end of the table rising to a twenty-degree angle above the floor before falling with a resounding crash. "He has connections to the bloody Queen of Air and Darkness!?" Her thoughts flew instantly to the last person of her acquaintance that had been supported by the darker Fey, the enchantress Morgan Le Fay, and she snarled into the blizzard of paper her outburst had provoked. "Mistress. Shirou. I humbly request that when we reach Chicago we make the elimination of this man our immediate priority."

Rin and Shirou looked at her with wide eyes, then to each other. Tohsaka was the first to speak. "Er, remember Saber, if he is involved with the Grail we'll need him alive long enough to tell us where he built it so that it can be destroyed."

Saber turned her head and closed her eyes for a second, taking a deep breath to compose herself. "Agreed. Afterwards, however, I recommend that we not allow the machinations and designs of this person to go any further."

That proposal was met with resounding agreement, and the four Grail survivors sat down at the table to prepare themselves in earnest.


	4. Chapter 4

**Author's Note: I've decided that the Holy Grail War takes place roughly circa Death Masks in relation to Dresden canon. With that said, I reserve the right to steal story elements from anywhere I like - but have no plans to deal with any of the events after Turn Coat.**

CHAPTER 3 – DEC 1, 20XX – CHICAGO

The more I looked at the folder Miss Matou had given me, the more I needed a stiff drink. Luckily, I knew just the place for one. McAnally's was technically a pub, in that it was a place that served food and alcoholic beverages. For the supernaturally inclined of Chicago, it was accorded neutral ground, a place to hash out disputes under Mac's watchful eye. Rumor had it that he had supernatural abilities sufficient to enforce his rules of nonviolence. So far, I hadn't heard of anyone willing to risk trying – though that might be more because of the threat of being cut off from Mac's truly excellent home-brewed beer. For me, it was a home away from home.

Ever since I had a dispute with a Dead Apostle belonging to an organization of vampires called the Red Court – and by dispute, I mean that she murdered my girlfriend and locked her corpse in a room with me so that I would be devoured when she rose from the dead, and in return I burned the Apostle's house down around her, along with all of her undead spawn – I had started looking over my shoulder when I left the office, just in case her friends came looking for revenge. With what I knew now about the Holy Grail, I was even more nervous. I kept a trickle of prana flowing through the bracelet around my wrist as I walked across the parking lot to a battered VW Beetle, my preferred mode of transportation.

I could probably afford a newer vehicle (though not necessarily one in any better condition) but one of the side-effects of the experiments my former mentor performed on me was a complete incompatibility with modern technology. When I ran prana through my Magic Circuits, computers crashed, lights sputtered out, and fuses blew. The thing was, when Justin DuMorne had found me I was an orphan. Unlike many mages, I had no Family Crest, no inherited abilities. Justin told me that I was doomed to be a second-class magical citizen without one, but that he had an idea for a solution. I accepted, and woke up a week later with a searing pain across my back. His 'solution', as I later understood, was to summon a Phantasmal creature of some kind, and use its prana-conducting tissues to create a Crest, which he then grafted to my spinal column. Astonishingly, it worked. It wasn't until later I found out that some of the creature's nature had been transferred as well.

Every so often, I tried to isolate and neutralize the phenomenon, with limited success at best. Until then, I compensated by heating my basement apartment with a wood stove, lighting it with candles, and driving a vehicle that was both electrically as unsophisticated as possible and easy to repair. I let the energy dissipate out of my shield bracelet and turned the ignition, which to my relief started immediately, and headed for Mac's pub.

Chicago was a surprisingly friendly place for the supernatural. Part of the reason was that the local Clock Tower representative – i.e. myself – was a surprisingly friendly guy, as far as mages went. Call me crazy, but I'm just not a big fan of dissecting people in the name of 'research'. So when I walked into McAnally's, the assorted third-rate magi, werewolves, vampire-afflicted, and Wiccans shifted nervously, but went back to their beers instead of edging for the door.

I walked up to the counter, and with a glance at my face, Mac pulled a glass of his brown ale and set it in front of me. "Thanks, Mac."

"Ungh." He grunted.

Mac doesn't talk much, but he's good people. "Think I could get something to eat?" I asked. He nodded, and immediately set to on the grill with beef, pepper, and onion.

Like I said, home away from home.

A few hours, a few transcendental beers, and a damn good steak sandwich later, I was much better informed about the Heaven's Feel ritual, but by no means in any better mood. For one thing, the things I had been learning terrified me. The events in Fuyuki ten years ago had been accompanied by news stories of 'gas leaks', 'serial murders', and 'epidemics' – and that war had apparently been exceptionally low-key when it came to civilian casualties. The events of twenty years ago had news headlines like 'terrorism', 'town destroyed in fire', and 'stolen fighter jet'.

I didn't even want to _know _how that last one happened.

Just about as scary as the events were the people. Waver Velvet, a new voice on the White Council and a fairly powerful one. Survivor of a Grail War that had killed tens of thousands. The odds against doing something like that and keeping your hands clean was low. Rin Tohsaka, Noble heir, Average One, former student of Velvet, current student of Zeltrech the Kaleidoscope. Shirou Emiya – supposedly, an unassuming apprentice. Except every time he vanished from surveillance for a few days, Sealing Designates died and warzones ground to a halt. Finally, Arturia Pendragon. King of Knights. A legendary figure, summoned to the supposed strongest class. None of them looked like the sort to plot world domination or destruction.

Neither had Justin DuMorne.

And supposedly, just like my former mentor had, Emiya was conducting research into the nature of reality marbles. And Tohsaka was likely helping. There was a good chance that whatever they had been before they started such a suicidal project, they were hopelessly insane and twisted reflections of their former selves… that coincidentally would probably be twice as dangerous to fight as their already-imposing dossiers suggested. Call me crazy, but the thought of putting my half-trained skills in the ring against the best the Clock Tower had to offer was just a little unnerving.

Besides trepidation, the other emotion behind the swirling cauldron of 'bad mood' in my stomach was anger. You see, I might not be the sharpest knife in the drawer, but over a few years of being a pawn in the various political maneuvers that go on in Chicago, I had learned to listen to my sense of paranoia. Right now my paranoia was jumping up and down and shouting "TRAP!"

One of the side effects of deciding not to be a piece in the games that powerful people play is acquiring powerful people (and I use the term loosely) as enemies. Enemies who would love to have a free and clear shot at me, a shot that entering this tournament would provide. I couldn't judge Sakura's motives yet; she might be a pawn, a player, or just an honest dupe, but it was clear that the smart move would be to stay the hell out of this Grail War.

Hell, it'd be even smarter to get the hell out of town. Your enemies can't kill you with a British legend if you aren't around for them to use it on you, after all. It'd be easy. All I would have to do would be abandon my friends, and all the other inhabitants of Chicago, to an uncertain fate, possibly allowing powerful people with unscrupulous motives unopposed access to a wish-granting artifact of unfathomable power.

Come to think of it, a wish-granting artifact could probably erase me from existence just about anywhere I cared to hide. And there was no way I was going to just roll over and let a bunch of psychopaths tear apart the city I lived in. Looked like the smart move wasn't going to be an option.

With a sigh, I closed the folder, noticing with a start that at some point during my dinner, the streetlights had come on. I put on my hat, paid my tab, turned up the collar of my leather jacket against the light drizzle that had begun, and headed out into the night to find a pay phone. Joining the Holy Grail War was suicidally risky, but finding out that a series of supernatural murders were likely to occur and not warning Karrin Murphy about it would be just plain suicide.

Murphy was a cop. A human cop. A non-magical, mundane, Lieutenant of the CPD. Technically, the fact that she was clued in to all the supernatural stuff that went on in Chicago meant that she was a risk to the security of the Magus Association, and that steps needed to be taken to have her removed. The fact that she had helped me out on any number of cases, often at great risk to life, limb, and sanity, meant that I cheerfully ignored that stricture. Besides, the Chicago Police Department was one of my biggest clients. When the supernatural world intersects with the natural one, death and chaos are pretty common. I had made a fairly decent living over the years by pretending to be a charlatan wizard with the 'miraculous' ability to solve crimes.

Of course, it was more than just that she occasionally paid me, or the fact that I owed her. Sure, telling anyone else about the information I had was likely to put both me and them at risk. On the other hand, Karrin was a friend, and friends don't let friends try to arrest people who could kill them with a stern look. With that in mind, I resolutely began feeding the pay phone quarters.

"Lt. Murphy." She picked up her cell after one and a half rings, her voice clipped in a way that suggested she was under some tension.

"Wizard Dresden," I drawled back to her. "Heya Murph."

"Dresden! You got my message, good. Where are you?" she asked, sounding relieved.

I blinked. "Er… not quite. I've been out of the office. I was just calling with… a tip?" It was something, anyways – I just wasn't sure what to call it. There was a brief pause in the conversation as both of us tried to sort out just what was going on.

"Harry, can you get over to this address?" She rattled me off a location down by Navy Pier. I felt my eyebrows rise.

"Yeah. I'll be right there. Is this a case?"

I could hear Murphy breathe, a slow inhale and a sharp exhale. "Hate to say it, Dresden. But SI could probably use your help on this one."

First I receive an invitation to the death-match of the decade, next Murphy gives me a call, looking for help. What were the odds the two were related? "You got it." I told her, then hung up.

I took the manila envelope out from the crook of my arm and opened it. There on the inside cover was the number that would supposedly give me the information I needed to summon a Heroic Spirit – possibly the only thing that even stood a chance of protecting me from other Spirits. Sakura Matou's number. The seven digits – ten with area code – that would put me firmly in the sights of every lunatic competing for the prize, and straight along the path that I felt almost certain was being planned for me.

I closed the folder.

I got in the car and drove.

And I prayed I wouldn't regret it.


End file.
